


it's ok

by sadie18



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, TW: Swearing, it fluffs up though, super angsty my lord, trust me - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 14:36:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12301188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadie18/pseuds/sadie18
Summary: the losers had hell on their minds, but they went through it togethera coming of age one shot of fears and how they found happiness again--Nobody knew what happened to the Losers that summer. They would never.  It stopped the Tozier boy from yapping, the stuttering kid to stop moping, the ginger to stop fighting, the little jewish boy to stop sticking his hand up in class, the chubby kid to stop humming, and the farmer’s boy to stop biking into everyone by accident.They didn’t care.





	it's ok

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr: richietczicr

Nobody knew what happened to the Losers that summer. They would never.  It stopped the Tozier boy from yapping, the stuttering kid to stop moping, the ginger to stop fighting, the little jewish boy to stop sticking his hand up in class, the chubby kid to stop humming, and the farmer’s boy to stop biking into everyone by accident.

They didn’t care.

* * *

Richie didn’t laugh at the ice-cream man’s joke.

It just… wasn’t funny.

So he gave a polite little smile and left.

Before the summer, before the sewers, before the  _fucking clown_ , Richie would’ve guffawed and high-fived the guy, leaving with a big smile and retelling it to his friends.

_“Beep beep, Richie!”_

Nobody could say that to him, anymore. It came back with thoughts of nightmares and screaming and nights where he’d wake up in a cold sweat, shivering and gasping and staying that way till the morning.

Trashmouth Tozier had lost his trashmouth. There was no more hilarious school announcements in the morning, no more crazy dances up on the school cafeteria tables, no more swear words written on the chalkboards.

It wasn’t fun anymore. 

And seeing everyone else as distant and so hopeless wasn’t making matters any better.

He saw how Eddie wouldn’t stop cleaning. He saw how Bill stammered almost every word. He saw how Beverly wore her dresses down to her ankles and sleeves to her wrists, flinching when anyone except the losers came in contact of her, her smoking getting more frequent. Ben hadn’t cracked open a book in a while. Stan would snap angrily and turn everyone away (and that broke Bill’s heart- Richie saw that too). Mike would bike over for a hello, but he heard that the produce from the farm was slow because Mike Hanlon would throw up every time anything was killed.

How much despair could a heart take, before it just

_burst?_

“Hey Richie.”

Mike plopped himself down beside Richie’s parked ass on the sidewalk. He was sitting alone, the overcast clouds dark and grey.

_If it rains, it’ll rain. So fucking be it._

“Hey Mike.” Richie said, without bravado. “What’s up?”

_The sky that’s about to take a leak all over my day_

“Nothing really.” Richie attempted nonchalance. His voice cracked. Dammit.

“Wrong question.” Mike muttered. “Are you ok?”

_Summer. Georgie. Bill. Stan. Beverly. Ben. Mike. Eddie. Eds. Clown. Sewers. Broken. Clown. Fear. House. Clown. Bikes. Bowers. Float. Float. Float._

_“You’ll float too!”_

“No.” Richie mumbled, his throat closing up. “I’m not.”

Mike sighed. “That’s ok. We’re here. We’re together.”

Richie leaned into Mike, sobbing.

The sky sobbed with him, but Richie wondered that instead of crying, what if the sky was just letting go?

* * *

It had just made Eddie’s obsessive cleaning worse.

Sanitise, wipe, rewipe, pill. It was a routine, almost once an hour.

He would go home from a silent day of school, ignored his mother who avidly tried to get his attention, and walk up to his bathroom. He had taken each scheduled pill, wash his body, wash his hands.

He scrubbed, scrubbed, scrubbed, scrubbed at his skin,  _his filthy, germy skin,_ until it was red raw and the hot water scalded it.

_“Do you think this will help me, Eddie?”  
_

“No!” He whispered. “Because it didn’t help me either.”

Eddie was so, so afraid. 

And it went like that, day after day. 

Eddie was in the school bathroom, washing his hands after throughly wiping down anything his hands had to come in contact with.

_“Do you think this will help me, Eddie?”_

“Eds.” 

Richie Richie Richie. Richie Tozier, who was always full of laughs, of smiles, of filthy jokes and even filthier language. Richie who stopped laughing, stopped smiling and stopped joking. 

“Eds.” He repeated again. Eddie turned around to see a tired looking Richie. “Are you ok?”

Just like that, those three words. Eddie choked on a sob.

“No. Richie. I’m not ok.”

_‘I’m not ok. I’m not ok. When does it get better?’_

The taller boy gathered Eddie into his arms, the smaller, sad boy gasping.

“I don’t think I will be again.” Eddie whispered

Richie let a tear slip.

“It will. Or I sure fucking hope so.”

They sat like that in the school bathroom, Richie on the floor so Eddie could sit in his lap without contaminating himself, pressing kisses to his hair, crying together.

* * *

Ben sat there, in the bleachers. By himself. He had his journal and nice inky pen his mother gave him before they moved to Derry.

But the words wouldn’t spill out.

They were such ugly words anyways. 

The first summer in Derry, the first summer with friends.

The first summer of so much pain.

When Beverly floated up there like that, on the verge of death, but not quite.

But barely alive.

It hurt him. It wrecked him. 

He wore his Walkman but played no music. He just wanted to breathe.

It was so hard though. Each breath choked him. He didn’t understand why he left himself with his thoughts. His thoughts were so sick, so fearful and painful to remember. But he remembered all of it.

_“I’m going to carve my name into you. You’ll remember me forever, fat boy.”_

The scars of the not quite finished  _‘Henry’_ was on his stomach, reminding him of why he felt the need to clean himself like Eddie every time he showered.

He would do anything for the Losers, but there were moments he wished that he had never met these idiots he called best friends. He wished he never moved to Derry. He wished that he’d never ventured into those sewers, into Neibolt, into this hellhole of his life.

Was he so wrong to think this?

He heard someone walking up the track, by his spot on the bleachers. He turned to see Eddie walking up the track, in a large black sweater. It looked like it belonged to Richie, but Ben wasn’t going to comment on that.

“Hey Benny.” Eddie said calmly, sitting down on the bench carefully, after inspecting the seat critically. Ben was shocked. Normally Eddie would’ve wiped down the seat with at least three different tissues. But Ben wasn’t going to comment on that either.

Eddie glanced at the journal next to Ben. “Been writing anything recently?”

His angry sigh was enough of an answer for Eddie. “You know what, Benny boy?” Using the affectionate term that he hadn’t heard in so long, Eddie threw an arm over his shoulders. “That’s ok. Everything sucks ass right now. But that’s ok. Don’t force yourself to do anything. Words will flow eventually.”

Ben looked Eddie in the eye when the shorter boy finished.

“Life will flow better eventually.”

Ben smiled a little at that. It was rather poetic.

Every story had it’s ups and downs. Ben was going through a rather shitty down. But that would make the up just so much better.

* * *

_‘Smile. Sit still.’_

Beverly Marsh was a whole new girl. Last year, her paisley dress hit a scandalous few inches above the knee, her leather jacket the envy of all the boys in town. Her hair was cut just below her ears. People muttered and gossiped about the infamous Beverly Marsh, and they still did. For a whole new reason.

When Beverly Marsh came back in the summer, she wore a casual looking skirt to her mid-calf, her leather jacket ditched for a homely cardigan. Her hair had grown out a little, coming below the shoulders. When people went to give her some friendly pats on the shoulder in greeting, she flinched away. She only felt comfortable with the boys she had spent her summer with.

The summer.

This summer, she thought she had fallen in love. And then she actually fell in love. This summer, what she feared the most came true. And then she actually faced fear itself. This summer, she walked away from all the pain and hate she felt at school. And then she walked back into it as soon as she stepped into Neibolt house.

People had wondered what she did this summer. Her and the 6 hooligans she loved so dearly. 

_“Are you still my little girl, Bevvy?”_

That’s what she remembered as she looked into the mirror in the morning. 

Patricide. The unforgivable crime of murdering your own father.

“No.” Beverly would whisper fiercely. She was her own girl.

But strong girls still had their fears.

She didn’t want to be touched so freely. Touch had power.

It was free period, and Beverly walked out of class to have a smoke, smiling at Richie holding hands with Eddie on the way. She smoked alone. She was fine with alone. Just for a little bit.

“Hey Bev.”

She didn’t mind some company she actually liked though.

“Hey Ben.” She replied softly. He sat next to her on the bench where everyone smoked. 

They sat in silence for a bit, looking at the blue sky and the green grass. It was too beautiful of a day to be feeling this ugly. Yet Beverly was here. Feeling ugly.

“Why do you smoke?”

This question caught her out of the blue. Nobody had ever asked. She had started so young.

“I rebelled.” She said simply, recalling the excitement of being different, how angry and curious it made people.

“Why do you smoke now?” Ben said. 

Beverly puffed, blowing out grey smoke that drifted into nothingness.

“Because I rely on it. Like I rely on Stan and Bill and Richie and Mike and Eddie. And you.” She whispered. “I rely on it.”

She felt her eyes sting and looked away from Ben, not wanting him to see her like this.

“Hey Bev.” He said softly. “Look at me.”

And she did.

“It’s ok to need things. It’s ok to need people. Us losers, we all need each other.” He smiled. “January embers.”

She giggled a little. “My heart burns there too.”

He pecked her on the lips, earning him a a small, happy smile from her. She tasted like smoke and strawberry gum. 

Her smoke drifted into nothingness, but she didn’t have to.

* * *

He carried it with him all times. It was a small photo, a little polaroid. He and Georgie were sitting on the hill, Bill helping him make a flower crown. Georgie was giggling and Bill was so happy. 

That was before Georgie died, their family shattered to pieces and they faced the fucking clown.

Bill always carried it on him. It gave him something to hold onto, when he’d sit in the corner of his room and just sob. 

He wondered where he got the strength and leadership and responsibility he had over the summer, as he lead his friends into a house that belonged to fear himself. He lead his friends into a death trap.

God, he was stupid! Georgie died. He  _needed_ them. He needed Stan. He needed Richie, Eddie, Ben, Beverly and Mike.

“ _This isn’t real enough for you, Billy?” It said mockingly. “Well, it was real enough for Georgie!”_

Georgie was so young. He’d never go to high school. He’d never have a crush. He’s never have his first kiss, or go to college, get a car, a job. A  _life_.

He’d never have any of it.

It hurt, to know that Bill would live a life without his baby brother at his side.

So that’s what Bill was thinking, as he looked at the little polaroid, so small and pale in his scarred hand, in the diner.

“Hey Bill.”

A soft feminine voice that he hadn’t heard enough of recently.

“H-hey Bev.” He said quietly. He still practiced his speech, but a stammer always slipped out when he thought of Georgie.

He looked up and his eyes widened in shock. When he saw Bev on this first day since summer, since they took a break from life and each other, she had worn a long skirt and a soft cardigan, looking so- so  _not-Beverly._

But today he saw her in her dirty overall shorts, her sneakers and leather jacket, hear hair hacked back into the boycut everyone had gotten so used to.

“Can I get a chocolate milkshake, extra sauce, two straws?” She smiled at the waiter, who choked out a yes.

Beverly had that effect.

“Why are you h-here?” He asked, voice still just above a whisper.

She sighed, looking at his fingers pinching the little polaroid tightly.

“I’m here because I care.”

“I care about you. I care about Ben. I care about all the Losers.”

She took a deep breath as the milkshake was set down.

“Bill, are you ok?”

Was Bill ok? Was staying in bed all day covered in blankets and suffocating in his own sweat and tears healthy? Was yelling at his parents, screaming at them for forgetting about him when he was at his weakest, ok?

No.

He shook his head, a tear falling out of his eye and onto the photo of Georgie.

“You know what? That’s fucking fine. Cry.” She commanded gently. “Because bottling it up like you did over the summer isn’t ok. It’s ok to talk. Talk to me. Talk to  _us_.”

“It ain’t gonna be easy for you. It ain’t gonna be easy for anyone. But Eddie didn’t use three napkins to wipe down the table, and used just one, last week, remember? And Richie said that joke, remember? ‘I use tissues to wipe up your mom and I after a wild night?’“ This elicited a giggle from Ben. “Ben wrote a poem yesterday. So what I’m saying is, it’s going to suck absolute dick, but we’re together, and that’s what matters.” She said, putting a hand over Bill’s.

“Now, let’s have this chocolate milkshake. This cream’s gonna melt.”

* * *

Stan fiddled with his little necklace, a golden sparrow on a chain. He was in the library, a book open in front of him that he wasn’t reading.

It was a book about magic. A happy tale where a young woman and man fall in love in a brand new world. A book that took you somewhere else when it was open in front of you.

Yet here Stan was, in the little old library of Derry, in love with a  _boy_ that probably didn’t love him back. He wasn’t in a new world. He was in this ugly one. 

This ugly world had some beauty to it, he had to be honest. It had 5 boys and a girl that he called best friends. But this hideous world had fear personified as a clown. This clown fed into everyone’s minds, into their hearts. Panic gets hungry when it isn’t fed.

His grades slipped dramatically. Teachers, his parents, his AP peers were all so disappointed.

Stan Uris- a disappointment.

That was painful to think, and even more painful to be his reality. 

Well, if that’s what fear wanted, then congratu-fucking-lations, he accomplished.

Not many people frequented the little library of Derry, except for Ben. Richie didn’t read very often and Eddie didn’t like the dust. Bev didn’t care, just didn’t go.  Nor did Bill or Mike. 

Nobody wanted to be around him anyways. He’d bite their head off without knowing why.

Wrath and pride were a rather dangerous combination.

Nobody was in the library except for him and the two old librarians snoring away at the check out desks. 

That’s how he heard the footsteps so easily, getting closer and closer to him.

“Stan.”

Such a recognisable voice. Though he hadn’t spoken with him in days, he knew it like the back of his hand. He heard it in all his nightmares.

The chair scraped as Bill pulled one out to sit on.

“Hi.” He said softly. Stan just mumbled a reply, still looking at his book without reading it, still fidgeting with the little golden sparrow.

“What are you r-reading?”

Stan looked at the words swimming all across the page. The story about magic, love, um- 

“I don’t know.” He muttered. “I don’t know. I don’t remember. I picked it up off the shelf and-”

“Hey, h-hey, it’s ok.” Bill said, gently grabbing Stan’s fidgeting hand and holding it.

“It’s ok to not remember. It’s ok to want to forget.”

Stan looked up and saw him blushing slightly.

“R-Richie always said that the best way to forget was to kiss somebody.” He whispered. 

And so they forgot. Not entirely, but it was just a whisper by the time they stopped forgetting.

* * *

_“N-no. No.”_

Those were the words that Mike remembered, and the words that he was repeating now. His face was cool against the toilet seat. 

He couldn’t put a stupid bullet into the sheep’s head.

Not since Bowers.

“No. No.” He mumbled.

He remembered the day he met the losers, as clear as a bell. Bowers and his lackeys had snatched him right off his bike and into the creek. Pushing, shoving and saying things Mike still fought hard to forget. 

He thought it wasn’t going to end.

But then there they came, a band of genuine idiots, across the creek and throwing rocks. He sometimes smiled a little at Richie yelling “Rock War!” and immediately getting hit. He still had the scar.

That was the day his summer started and his childhood ended.

Mike’s real question was- would summer ever really end for the losers?

The house, the clown, the bullet, Beverly floating, floating floating into almost nothingness.

“Mike! The Uris boy wants to see you!” His uncle yelled, pounding at the door.

Mike flushed away his sickness, brushed his teeth and went to the door.

And there Stan was, looking happier then he had looked in a while. 

It suited him.

“Hey Mikey.” He said, hugging him tightly. “Can you come biking with me?”

They mounted their bikes and rode a path to a large apple tree. They climbed up and sat on the large branch.

“How are you?” Stan said quietly to Mike. Mike was so brave during the final battle, so strong. So strong that they sometimes forgot that everybody has a weakness.

“I-I’m great.” Mike forced a chuckle. Stan didn’t buy it.

“How’s the farm?”

That’s when Mike froze. He loved the little old farm he worked on. He loved picking the vegetables, grabbing the eggs, whistling a little tune to his aunt. But when he had to put a harmless bullet between the sheep’s eyes, he would blanch and run off. Run away from his fears and his problems and all those sleepless nights woken up in a sickening cold sweat.

But he didn’t need the other Losers to feel as bad as he did. It broke his heart to see Richie just sitting there on the sidewalk on the brink of a storm, all alone.

“Maybe I’m not great.” He sighed.

Stan shrugged. “That’s fine. And you know what? We’re probably not going to be ok for a while. But we have each other. You have us.”

And Mike did have the other Losers. That’s what crossed his mind when Stan threw a friendly arm around his shoulders and smiled a little smile.

He had family.

* * *

“Come on Bev!” Richie said. “We’ll flip together!”

“Richie, the cliff is pretty high, that’s dangerous, you could hurt-”

Eddie didn’t even finish when Richie and Beverly did a front flip off the little cliff they had all jumped off during the summer.

“Eddie, there’s no point trying to stop them. Wild spirits can’t be stopped.” Ben sighed dreamily, looking at Beverly smiling and laughing.

“That was rather poetic, Benny boy.” Mike laughed. “Found a muse?”

“You betcha.”

Richie and Beverly came stumbling back up, giggling.

“Don’t touch me until you’ve dried off.” Eddie said sternly. “And wipe your hands if you’re going to hold my hands.”

Richie beamed. “Of course, milady. Anything for my queen.” 

Bill and Stan were lying under the sun, tangled together whispering about their own little world.

Bill would give the Stan the world, and Stan would share it with him.

They would share the world together. 

And if they didn’t get the world?

That’s ok, because they got each other.


End file.
